


Got Your Number(s)

by lunadesangre



Series: Little Miracles [23]
Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-17
Updated: 2011-08-17
Packaged: 2017-10-22 18:56:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/241414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunadesangre/pseuds/lunadesangre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summer idleness, out in the free world. Heat, freckles and kisses, and counting in Spanish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Got Your Number(s)

The sun is warm against his back. Miguel’s mouth – half-opened and moist, tracing lazy patterns on his skin – is warmer still. Sizzling.

“What are you doing?” Ryan asks after a little while, all lethargic languid curiosity – still laying in the grass, trapped by and under Miguel’s body coming to brace himself over him.

“Counting your freckles,” is the more felt than heard answer vibrating against his spine, and Ryan shivers, suddenly too warm and too cold all at once. He can almost _feel_ Miguel smirking against his skin.

“Good luck,” he tries to laugh, sounding only slightly strangled, “The more I stay in the sun, the more there is.”

“Hmmm...” Husky, low vibration drawn out on Ryan’s skin. “Then for the sake of mathematics, I should probably get you in the shade.”

“What? Can’t count past ten?” Lame, but Miguel’s low voice and hot breath against his spine is frying Ryan’s brain. (Always does. Bastard knows it, too.)

“Cabrón.” Fond and sarcastic, making Ryan smile with him, face half hidden in his pillowed arms, eyes still closed.

“ _Uno_.” Deliberately slow and unabashedly wet kiss on the base of Ryan’s neck – dead center, where Ryan is almost sure there’s no freckle – with a tiny hint of teeth.

“ _Dos_.” Sounding pleased at Ryan’s inability to repress a shiver, hint of tongue this time, going down his spine.

“ _Tres_.” Lower voice and lower spot, wetter, unrepentantly seductive.

“ _Cuatro_. Breathe, baby.” Diverting, annoyingly amused, butterfly soft below his right shoulder blade.

“ _Cinco_.” On the back of his right ear – there’s no way he has a freckle there – capturing a bit of flesh between warm, wet lips on the return trip to Ryan’s back for “ _Seis_ ,” husky, between his spine and his left shoulder blade.

“ _Siete_ ” is full of teeth and scraping his ribs, left side still, making him jump a little. “ _Ocho_ ” goes up a bit and right, softer, like an apology, but “ _Nueve_ ” becomes more insistent, wet and needy below his ribcage on the right side.

“ _Diez_ ” is downright gravelly, very low on his spine just above his unbuttoned jeans, and Ryan can’t help arching into it a little – then shuffling to turn over when Miguel fails to do anything else in the next three seconds.

Lying on his back with Miguel straddling him – but not actually touching him – he can’t help meeting smug smile and intense needy brown eyes with infuriating smartass smirk. “Can’t do it? Even I get farther than that in Spanish.”

“ _Once_ ,” Miguel answers deliberately slowly, placing a too soft, too warm kiss on Ryan’s left cheekbone. Ryan narrows his eyes, refusing to give in, and “ _Doce_ ” lands on the bridge of his nose, even softer, with a cocky grin that almost gets him cross-eyed.

He swallows “ _Trece_ ” in retaliation before Miguel can deviate to his left jaw. (Shut up and kiss me, estupido amante.)


End file.
